Shadows of a life
by EvaAn
Summary: George Weasley deals with the loss of his brother and finds love with Angelina.


Shadows of a life **Shadows of a life**

_George could feel the soft sheets against his skin and the warm body next to him. A light breeze came from the open window and the curtains swayed gently back and forth. He could hear her breathe as she slept. Birds sang in the distance, as birds do on early summer mornings. A clear sky could be seen between the swaying curtains. He felt strangely light-hearted, and he moved closer to her warm body and put his arm around her. It was a wonderful morning, such a morning when you felt happy to be alive, and just for a moment a shadow passed over his brow and he buried his face in the back of her neck._

_A few years ago he had fallen so deep into darkness he never thought he would ever feel anything again except pain. He had felt it happen. He realised that later. George sighed, closed his eyes and his mind went back into the past._

He had heard a cry. Not a sad cry or an alarming cry, just a cry, maybe more like an echo of a cry. Fred shouted his name. "George!" He heard it so clear and sharp that when he turned he expected to see him, but he didn't.

Not until later.

Fred looked so peaceful and content, almost like he had a smile on his face. But he wasn't there anymore, George saw that, kneeling beside his brother's head. He leaned over him and touched his face. Blood ran over his forehead and it felt warm and sticky, but George didn't care. He pressed his face against his brother's and time stood still. All he could hear was his own breathing. Breathing that suddenly became very hard. He remember someone putting arms around him, he thought it was Percy but it could just aswell have been anybody else.

What happened around them he couldn't say, only his brother's heavy, lifeless body had meaning. A small thought, born out of his own growing desperation, popped up in his head: _What am I going to do now?_

He was alone with Fred's body. There were shouts in the distance. George sat on the floor beside Fred and stared at him like he could not believe what he was seeing. George was just waiting for Fred to roll over and wink at him. He waited.

Fred's face grew paler, but he didn't move. Arthur had closed his unseeing eyes a while ago. He was so still, so peaceful, like he could be asleep. George just had to poke him a bit, he poked a bit harder and the panic rose in him as he grabbed two fistfulls of Fred's jumper and shook him hard. He bent over Fred's body as a sudden nausea came over him, he felt sick as the full force of his loss hit him. He inhaled and the air seemed to choke him.With his whole body shaking, he turned away, vomited, and then he cried.

George now slept a lot. Everytime he woke the loss felt so intense he didn't have the strength to do anything but turn to face the wall and go back to sleep again. Molly had taken him back to the Burrow to stay with them instead of the flat over the shop. People thought he didn't hear them whisper or see the looks they gave him. _Poor George_, they would say. _Poor George. How will he cope? How is he taking it? He must feel half now, mustn't he? ...And only one ear._

Even his family tip-toed around him, Molly's face was sombre and teary most of the time, but this gradually disappeared some time after the funeral, only to come back when she was alone or when she looked at George. He couldn't stand it.

His parents had had a whispered discussion about moving Fred's bed to another room; about if George was going to be all right; about what they should do, leave him alone or be with him constantly? They both seemed to have aged ten years in just a couple of weeks.

Fred's place by the table was empty now. The chair beside his was still there. But no one took it away, or sat on it, for that matter. Hermione was seated next to him after Molly had dragged him out of bed and downstairs to have dinner, since both Hermione and Harry were staying at the Burrow for a few days. George grabbed the peas, took a spoonful and then passed it across the table to Ginny, a well rehersed move.

"Oh, hey, I wanted those," Hermione piped up.

George turned to look at her like he never seen her before, and he suddenly realised that she sat in the chair that had recently been unoccupied – Fred's chair.

Fred didn't like peas. George had always passed them across the table, and when the peas finally reached Fred he had just pushed them away with a look of disgust.

George looked at Hermione and his eyes filled up, and as they did he noticed the fear in her eyes as she watched him. He looked down at his plate and saw the now blurry pile of peas. He rose quickly from the table and went upstairs.

Everything in the Burrow reminded him of his brother. The empty bed beside his; the carvings on the doorframe where they had compared their heights, both claiming to be the tallest; the attic where they had experimented with potions and mixtures to invent new jokes long before Molly and Arthur even knew. The garden, where an old gnome had popped up its ugly head and hissed one of the foul words the twins had taught him some years ago. And the clock, oh the clock, that told where all the family members were. His whole body ached everytime he walked past it. And he wasn't alone. Arthur had hung a big cloth over the clock after a while.

George eventually went to stay with Bill and Fleur.

Bill and Fleur enjoyed having him. Their house was calm and serene, nothing there reminded him of Fred. People seldom visited, and Bill and Fleur went away to see friends rather than have them over and force George to socialise. Bill saw it as an opportunity to spend time with his little brother, and although Bill mourned Fred, George's pale face and shrinking frame grieved him more. George had peace and quiet, he worked a lot in their garden; digging and planting. He tried to make something beautiful out of the flowers Fleur brought him to plant. He saw no beauty in them.

The day of the funeral arrived. George had been dreading this; to show up at a formal occassion without his brother, to go through this whole terrifying, sad day without Fred.

All of those who had died that horrible day were to be honoured at the same time. It had been decided so because everybody wanted to say farewell and honour the commitment the departed had made by being a part of the resistance. They were also to be buried together at the same place, as a memorial that wizards and witches could come to and be in no doubt about what had happened and why. To arrange it had taken quite a while and the sorrow had been put on hold. But now it was finally time.

Molly had layed out George's clothes for him. He had stayed at the Burrow that night because Molly had wanted it. It took him a while to get dressed. He had a headache and he was shaking from time to time. The silence in the room was so intense that he could hear his every move; the noise that came from fabric touching fabric, his breath, the noise his shoelaces made when he tied them. _It's so quiet without him_, he thought. _So quiet_. Slowly he had built up this armour around him; he didn't cry, but his body crushed from the inside piece by piece.

Molly cried constantly throughout the day, running around getting everyone and everything ready. George could hear her sniffles move around the house. Ginny hung pale on Harry's arm, Ron with bent head and tears that ran constantly down his nose. Hermione led him gently to where he supposed to go, looking teary but resolute. Charlie walked the garden, deep in his own thoughts. Bill and Fleur were still at their house waiting for Fleur's relatives to arrive.

A beautiful resting place was chosen for the funeral. It was a valley that opened up above a beautiful lake that stretched far like the sea, so far it almost had a horizon. Witches and wizards had travelled far to pay their respects. Some houseelves could be seen, and a whole herd of centaurs. There were chairs put up close to the coffins for the immediate families. George sat there beside his family, staring at Fred's coffin. There was just so much crying around him, and he felt empty. He couldn't allow himself to feel, because then he would break apart.

He didn't hear much of the speeches that were held. A soft voice sang a sweet tune filled with sorrow and sadness. The tones went far and wide and filled the valley with music.

The Black Wizards of Sorrow, dressed in black cloaks with silver lining, raised their wands and all the coffins were gently lowered into the ground. George couldn't watch and kept his eyes firmly set on the horizon. Fred's coffin disappeared into the ground and George turned his head and saw his dad's face. It was the most heartbreaking thing he'd ever seen. While Molly was the emotional parent of the two, George had always looked at his dad as the cool, calm guy, the one who was slightly silly but alway rose to the occasion in times of sorrow and hardship.

George felt the tears well up in his eyes, and he turned on the spot and made his way through the crowd. He needed to be away from there, just away for air and space, away to where he could feel Fred close again. People saw him leave, and made way for him. He stopped on the hill where some trees sheltered him a bit. He looked down at the crowd. People had now began to move serenely around the row of coffins, flowers sprouting from the tips of their wands and falling gracefully into the graves.

Angelina Johnson was there, he saw her stop by Fred's grave, sprouting a single red rosebud from the tip of her wand. The rose sparkled, blossomed and fell like a feather down the grave onto the coffin. She bent her head so George couldn't see her face. He tried to remember her from her days with Fred. Fred had liked her very much. He never told anyone _how_ much, but George had just assumed he was more than fond of her. He had referred to her as "girlfriend" a few times, and Fred never saw girls as "girlfriends", merely _potential_ girlfriends. Fred loved the dating part, but he had been a heart-breaker.

To be Fred's brother had not always been easy for George because of his endless charm and go-getter style. It was hard to measure up, but between them it never mattered; they took care of each other, and George had never lacked in attention from girls either. In the beginning they had both slightly fancied Angelina. They liked her proud face which warmed up when she saw them, and they admired her even more for the athletic skills she possessed.

The fact that Angelina didn't seem too impressed with them only encouraged the twins to live to impress her in as many ways as they could. But she had laid her favour towards Fred and it had only been natural for George to step back. There were no hard feelings between them and they liked Angelina even more for seeing the difference between them, instead of that slightly confused look they usually got from most people.

They had dated for a while, but when George and Fred had left Hogwarts, Fred and Angelina went on and off for a while until it faded away, both of them caught up in other things. Their shop had craved a lot of time and effort and she had to focus on her N.E.W.Ts and Quidditch.

But now she stood there, by Fred's grave. He wondered what she was thinking.

George sat there on the hill, looking down. They let him be. Darkness fell and the never ceasing stream of people started to thin out. Bill and Fleur had gone home with her relatives. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had gone back to the Burrow. Molly, Arthur, Percy, and Charlie were still there. Molly sat by Fred's grave, Charlies arms around her shoulder. Arthur was walking to and fro; standing a long time beside Lupin's grave. They were all gone now; Dumbledore, James, Lily, Sirius, Lupin, Mad-Eye, Tonks, Snape, and many, many more.

Maybe Arthur Weasley thought of all those lost in this fight, maybe he thought about how he had suddenly lost most of his friends since the dawn of the Order of the Phoenix, or maybe he wasn't thinking at all.

George watched Percy, who stood stiff in the glowing moonlight; he looked hollow and frighteningly pale. Colin Creevy's parents still sat by their son's grave. Tonks' mother had understandably left early with baby Teddy.

George sat there on the hill until almost all had gone, and then he walked down to the grave. He spoke to his brother. But the only thing he could think about and say was, "Life's going to be so hard, it's going to be so hard now that you're gone. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you."

He leaned his head in his hands and cried. He only knew he had stopped crying because his cheeks were dry, when an old wizard in long black cloak with silver lining came walking along the rows of graves. The old wizard put his cloak around George's shoulders and made a little flick with his wand. George felt the darkness fall and he drifted away.

He woke up in the guest room of Bill and Fleur's. The dark hours by Fred's grave felt like a dream. George lay there on his back, staring at the celing. The day was beautiful and clear and the birds sang. _So that's that,_ he thought. _The funeral is over and I'm going to wake up every morning and Fred will still be gone_. Tears started to run down his face. He didn't get out of bed that day.

Slowly life began to return to normal in the wizarding world. Arthur went to work and dealt with the rebuilding of the Ministry of Magic. He embedded himself with work and spent more and more time with Percy, who had changed forever. Nothing he ever did or encountered would ever soften the horrible moment of his brother's death in his mind. Charlie went back to Romania and his dragons.

Molly helped Harry redecorate Grimmauld Place to be Harry's home from now on. She went through the house with her wand lifted in a half furious way; adding new curtains, brighter colours on walls and furniture, flower pots, and her own knitted cushions for the sofas and chairs. Once in a while she stopped to dry her eyes and blow her nose. She laid all her sorrow in the attempt to move the painting of Mrs Black from the wall. She put up quite a fight, but had to give in to Molly's slightly darker side that had manifested itself in her since Fred had died.

Hermione and Ginny returned to Hogwarts. It was a dark year at Hogwarts and nothing seemed quite the same. But the spirit of young wizards and witches and the ever familiar joy and sorrow of having homework to do, friends to be with, Quidditch to look forward to and first kisses to have, soon returned Hogwarts to what it had always been and would always be.

Harry and Ron spent all their time at the Ministy of Magic, so George didn't see them that much. He still stayed with Bill and Fleur, going back to the Burrow occasionally for Sunday lunch. He walked the world with a bent head and didn't even recognise the beauty he had created in Bill and Fleur's garden; it blossomed like no one elses. Neville visited once and had to be dragged into the house, having spent two hours out there. Dobby's grave rested in the shadow of a small tree and the flowers bent their colourful heads as if they were honouring him.

George woke up to a new day, he had but to open his eyes to have reality hit him and the hole in his heart began to ache again. He then and there took the decision to move out of Bill and Fleur's, and to go back to their flat above the shop. A little voice echoed inside his head, _not our flat, my flat, _and he moved quickly out of bed to escape the feeling hacking a larger hole in his heart. If he was going to be unhappy for the rest of his life he could just aswell be unhappy in his own flat amongst his own things.

Diagon Alley was alive again. Busy witches and wizards hurried along the street to do some shopping, look at the window displays, stay briefly for a chat, going about their day. George could hear the noisy sound of the street die away as he unlocked the door to the shop and stepped inside. It was a bit dusty and dark as the door closed behind him. He took out his wand and lit a few lights. Everything was the way they had left it; neatly stashed shelves, some of them largely empty. They had been forced to take down some merchandise to be put in the cellar after they'd discovered them being used by the dark side for different shady purposes. The cage of Pygmy Puffs was empty, Verity had broght them home with her when he and Fred went into hiding. He moved slowly around the shelves, memories of Fred echoing in his head. Fred laughing, joking with the customers; demonstrating Nosebleeed Nougats to some children; putting boxes on shelves with his wand, the concentration on his face, and the slightly foul words that came out of his mouth when one box knocked over the others and he had to start all over again.

Fred was everywhere and there was no way to escape the memories. There were notes behind the cashiers desk that he had written, a pair of worn out sneakers thrown in a corner, a half eaten apple that had sprouted an interesting form of fungi. George recognised his brother's doings in every little detail in the shop. He could almost see Fred moving about in the shop, scribbling something down on the notepad, kicking off his shoes and shoving them in the corner, chewing an apple and then putting it down to deal with something else.

George felt that humming ache he always had in his body nowadays increase. His eyes filled up and he wiped them off with his sleeve. He went up the stair and unlocked the door to their flat. Nothing had changed.

He stood there, looking at the small mess that surrounded him, and somehow it felt odd that this place could be the same when life had changed so dramatically. How could the world have just kept going?

His bedroom was at the left of the flat but, for whatever reason, he chose to turn right and walk into Fred's bedroom. The light poured in from the small window, the air was stuffy and warm, the cupboard door was halfopen and clothes where scattered within. A robe was draped over the bedpost, a few magazines and papers lay on the floor in a pile beside the bed. There were old furry sweets, a watch on the bedside table; all bits and pieces of Fred's life.

George sat down on the side of the un-made bed; he had never felt lonlier. Slowly he let himself fall down onto the pillows. He knew that he would probably cry, he knew he was wallowing in feelings and self-pity, but he couldn't help it. He lay face down on Fred's pillow that still had the imprint of his head. He wet the pillow with tears and inhaled deeply to catch the last essence of his brother that might still be left.

He sneezed. The unaired room had gotten the best out of any hint of Fred that might have been. He sneezed again and headed for the window to open it. He flung it open and then made his way out of Fred's room, fumbling for the door. Tears ran down his cheeks, along with his running nose, and he sniffed loudly several times. He couldn't help but feel pathetic.

When he had reached the living room, George froze in his tracks as he saw a familiar face looking at him from the middle of the room.

Angelina looked back at him. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. She made a small, helpless gesture with her hand. George quickly turned around on the spot and covered his face with his hand, a poor attempt to pretend he hadn't been crying.

She took a few steps and he could feel her hand on his back. When he didn't move she gently put her arms around him. Her warm and tender embrace allowed him to cry openly, not bothering to hide it. He held on to her, knowing that her embrace was the only thing that kept him from falling apart.

It was dark outside, so they sat at the kitchen table, sipping the tea Angelina had made. George looked down at the table surface, it was shiny. It reminded him of his mother. None of them had spoken, but the silence wasn't awkward. What he felt become awkward were his constant sniffles. He couldn't seem to stop, even though he'd blown his nose several times.

"I saw you go in," she said. "I've been meaning to come and see you for a long time, but I never got around to it. It's just been too hard."

George starred down his teacup. "I saw you at the funeral." George's voice was hoarse and broken.

"I know," she said. "I saw you too." There was a brief silence.

"You loved him, didn't you?" George continued to stare down at his tea cup.

She didn't answer right away. She frowned slightly, and then she said, "I did. We were in love. He was my first real love." She paused. "But it was a teenage love. Very strong, very passionate, very much an experiment with emotions and… ah well… you know." She fell silent.

"But you loved him," George persisted.

"Yes, I did, very much," she answered.

George raised his head and looked at her. "How did you move on?"

Angelina endured his intense stare for a few seconds, then broke off the eye contact and looked out the window. "Oh, George, it's different," she said. "When we drifted apart I never thought we'd get back together again. We grew apart, it's not uncommon."

"So, you don't care anymore?" George's voice suddenly rose. "He's just a memory to you now?" He suddenly became panic stricken. Fred could not just fade into a memory - his living, loving, laughing brother - not alive anymore but merely a memory. If it happened to Angelina, who claimed she had loved him so much, could it happen to George, too? No, of course not. He wouldn't let that happen.

Tears started to roll down Angelina's cheeks, but she didn't move an inch. "I remember," she said fiercely, "how he looked at me the first time we met. I remember his smile when I scored my first goal playing Quidditch. I remember how I felt when he asked me to the Yule Ball. I remember what his eyes looked like the first time he kissed me. I remember the scent of his skin in bed at night. I remember us arguing over how much of a flirt he was, and I remember our fight over who's turn it was to write or call to keep our relationship going. And the bad things didn't matter at all when standing by his coffin saying farewell. To have all of those memories, both sweet and sad, tore my heart to the core so that I almost wished I never had them. But I do have them, and they're so painful because I loved him so much, and he meant so much to me, and I wouldn't part from that for anything."

George looked at her. There was a silence. "I never thought he meant so much to me that I couldn't function without him," he said. "He was always just there, it was natural."

Angelina rose from her chair, walked around the table and put her arms around him. "See," she said, "that's the difference. I never thought I'd get to keep him. You never thought you'd lose him."

The days went past. George tried to get the shop up and running again, but sometimes it was just too hard to cope with and he had to do something else.

Angelina came to see him quite often, and they'd talk mostly about Fred, but more and more about other things too. One day he realised that he had not thought of Fred for two hours. The thought of not thinking of Fred made him uneasy; sad, and a bit guilty. He felt more and more like he just had to see Fred again - just see him. He needed to see if he was still familiar, if they were still twins despite that he, George, had changed. He wasn't a twin anymore in people's eyes, at least not in the eyes of new people he met. He was just George, with four brothers and a sister. No one ever thought to ask him if he had more siblings, since five was quite a lot anyway. The most important part of his life, his twin brother, remained on the inside, unheard of, unknown.

Harry had seen his dead parents a number of times, and not in the moving pictures, like George had of Fred. His parents had been there with him, not quite in human form, but in the mirror of Erised. George knew that Harry had also seen them during the connection of the wands, and at the last battle of Hogwarts when Harry had walked to his death. George found the two last ways a bit difficult to recreate. But the more he thought of it, the Mirror of Erised seemed like a completely splendid way to get what he wanted. He became quite obsessed with the thought.

George approached Harry about bringing him to the Mirror of Erised. It was now kept at the Ministry of Magic. Harry was reluctant to take him but eventually agreed. Harry suffered the pain of his own losses; he couldn't deny George one look at his brother if it were possible.

Harry warned him thoroughly that just because Harry had seen his dead parents there long time ago, he might not see Fred. George put that possibility aside; he was determined to see Fred. His mouth was dry when Harry unlocked the door to the room with the mirror.

"You're going to see what your heart desires," warned Harry. "It might not be Fred although you think it is."

George watched his own reflection as he closed in on the mirror. When he stood in front of it, he stared as Fred looked back at him from the glass. He was standing there beside George, leaning slightly on him, arm around his shoulders. George looked at his own shoulder and saw nothing, but in the mirror Fred was still visible; smiling, winking, and looking all the same. He looked at himself and his brother. They were so alike. Although George was slightly thinner and a bit taller, their smiles were the same, along with their eyes, the shape of their legs, their noses, and even their hair.

George saw his brother turn his head to look at him. George did the same. He remembered that look, it was a way of communicating - the only twin-thing they had had beside their physical appearance. That look could mean anything depending on the situation, but they always knew how to interpret each others look. But no one looked back this time - he couldn't see Fred's face in the mirror with his head turned to the side.

When George looked back at the mirror, he couldn't interpret the look Fred gave him. He felt his legs fold under him as he thought: _This is forever. It's really over, our time together._ He suddenly felt like his body had cleaved and his soul ran out on the floor. He cried until there was nothing left in him. He didn't dare to look at the mirror again, afraid of what he might see. The pain and discomfort from lying on the cold stone floor didn't compare to the pain he felt in his chest.

Finally, he scraped up what was left of him and stood up, prepared to leave. His body felt numb, yet he couldn't resist a glance at the mirror again. This time he was alone, he stood there and Fred was gone. He saw only himself smiling, and he found that odd because he certainly wasn't smiling.

Harry gently opened the door and peeked inside. "You done?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," said George. "Yeah, I'm done."

"Did you see… what you wanted?" asked Harry.

George saw no reason to not to share this with Harry, who had, after all, broken many rules to get George in the same room as the Mirror of Erised.

Harry frowned when he heard George's story. "You desired to see Fred, which you did, and now you're happy?" Harry thought out loud.

George looked at his feet when walking through the corridors of the Ministry; he was deep in thought, grateful that Harry didn't disturb him.

The mirror told George that his deepest desire was to follow another direction rather than follow Fred. His deepest desire was to be happy again, to be able to smile and enjoy life despite the fact that Fred was gone. He wanted to see the beauty in Bill and Fleur's garden, enjoy a nice meal, and even laugh at a good joke. He wanted those things, he wanted them so much; he could feel that now, but he didn't see how they could be possible.

A few days later George went to see Fred's grave. The landscape was so serene and beautiful. It was a clear day.

He could see his mother fussing about the grave as he approached. She was pulling up imaginary weeds, polishing the inscription in the headstone, and arranging flowers.

She looked up as he reached her. "Oh, George," she said, giving him a weak smile.

George knelt down beside her, and she hugged him, patting his arm a bit. Her eyes then travelled from him to the grave and back again. He could see in her eyes that she found it both horrible and sort of comforting to stand there between both her sons, despite one being alive and being dead.

"It's nice," George said. "The flowers and the stone."

"Yes, it is," said Molly. She sniffed a bit.

"I haven't been before," he admitted, staring at the grave. "Not since the funeral."

Molly watched the grave as well. "I know," she said, smiling a bit.

George looked at her. "You do?" he asked.

Molly continued to look at the grave. "Yes I do," she said. "I'm here every day."

He gave her an astonished look. She felt her sons puzzled stare and continued. "I've got to look after my children. It never stops, you see. Your dad and I, we try to take care of you and shield you from getting hurt, making sure you're all right. That's what we do."

George slowly began to understand that his mum and dad carried a different grief than his. While Fred's death made him walk around _feeling _incomplete, his parents lived on, branded with the mark of _being _incomplete, to have failed to protect their child and not even be given the chance to die for him.

"You and your brother were a handful, even in my tummy," said Molly, and smiled through her tears. "But at least I knew where you were."

"Mum," said George, feeling his ears go red.

"Oh, George," Molly let out, and a sincere smile followed as she hugged him again and held him tight.

George had gone back to see Fred's grave a few times after that, but he didn't go every day. He knew that Molly still put a visit to Fred's grave in her schedule every day.

Ron had been helping him with the shop so that it was up and running again. No inventions were being developed though, they would have to wait a while. Fred's never ceasing innovative mind and disinclination for rules and tactfulness had been their creative motor. George just didn't feel up to it yet.

_Angelina sighed and stirred in the bed. She would wake up any minute now. George felt his heart ache for the love he had lost and the love he had found. It felt right to be with her._

When George had realised that, it had all come so naturally. "Do I remind you of him?" he'd asked her once.

"How typical of a male to ask that when we've just made love," Angelina answered, slightly annoyed.

"No!" he said, shocked. "I don't mean it like that!" He lowered his voice and looked down at her hand. He took it and continued. "I mean, are you with me because I remind you of him and you miss him?"

She looked at him. "No. No, of course not!"

He didn't seem too convinced, so she took his head between her hands, looked straight at him and said, "No, I'm in love with you now. Fred and I grew apart, I told you that. Had Fred still been alive, I wouldn't have been here with him. He wouldn't have wanted that either. You've gone through a lot since Fred died, you're a different person now, so am I. You're everything he wasn't when he and I dated. I could spend my life with you, I never felt that with Fred."

George felt convinced by this and he knew that he too wanted her to stay in his life. Angelina had gradually moved in, now they pretty much lived together. At least that was the conclusion Ron came to when he saw Angelina changing the colours of the curtains in the living room with small moves of her wand to see which colour suited best. Ron had smiled and hissed through the corner of his mouth, "Mum isn't going to like that!"

George had hushed his brother and hit him on the arm. Ron had retreated a few steps and given him a mischievous smile. Ron stayed at George's from time to time, Molly considered him too young to live by himself but for him to stay with George was all right. It worked out fine for them both.

_Angelina stirred. She let out a big yawn and turned to face him. "Mornin'," she said, smiling at him. He smiled back and felt the shadow in his heart shrink a bit and go to hide in a corner of his mind. The shadow was always present, but seldom overwhelming nowadays._

_It was a wonderful morning, and he wrapped his arms around her and started to kiss her._


End file.
